


Locked

by Raspberyl



Series: Such is life at Marshal University [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raspberyl/pseuds/Raspberyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No entry beyond this point; the door is closed, the lock on it old and rusty. All the more easy to break. Samuraiden, College AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked

The ceiling was a pretty shade of light blue, he noticed. He had never realized, because he hadn't spent so much time looking at it before, really. Never had spent so much time lying in bed, either.

The door was locked.

There was a purr by his side.

There was no need for it to be locked, truth be told, because Kev-of-all-trades had gone out to one of his many activities as the president of the student assembly and wouldn't be back for another couple of days. Still, Raiden didn't want to risk surprising any more acquaintances, didn't want to push his luck any further, so he locked the door anyway.

There was a more... abstract reason for the lock, though. He knew it. It was a lock for a secret he wanted to pretend no one had knowledge of—because even if everyone else seemed to accept it almost too easily, after a month of thinking and thinking and _thinking_ , he couldn't quite process it just yet.

A month.

The door was locked.

There was a purr by his side.

Jack continued to stare up, counting the days on an invisible calendar stuck on the light blue ceiling.

A month since he had started sleeping with Sam.

The door was locked.

Raiden's throat felt tight. A whole month of nothing but confusion and brooding and... well— _doing things_. Crossing personal boundaries he hadn't crossed in his whole 21 years of life and that maybe needed to be crossed way earlier, so he wouldn't feel like a child lost in the woods now that he was older and too set in his ways to easily adapt to change and uncertainty anymore.

It was all the more distressing because during their first encounter—or second, rather—he hadn't felt so disoriented. In fact, he had felt unexpectedly liberated instead. His mind was clear, his desires were obvious, everything seemed simpler. He acted without restraints, let the other man do whatever he wanted with him and enjoyed himself regardless of the consequences and the little voice in his mind trying to warn him about _this_ and _that_.

But as soon as he had stepped out of his door to return to his daily life, a fog started to settle in Raiden's mind and made his determination waver ever so slightly.

Questions.

Since when did I want to do this?

Why did I want to do this?

Why? What? How?

_What now?_

Old habits die hard. His rigid mental structure would not become flexible so conveniently, the restraints would not be so easy to get rid of. What seemed so simple the morning before was a maze once again, and just when he managed to gather enough ideas to maybe try and construct a somewhat rational reply to _one_ of those questions, he found himself alone with Sam once more and he had to start over, picking up the pieces with his mind and body sore yet satisfied.

How many times? Four? Maybe more. He lost count.

But he refused to yield this time. Not now that he knew what it felt to stop running away, to stop denying, and was reminded of the feeling every single time he gave in to taunts that now had a clear purpose.

It had been a long... self-discovery journey, to give it a name. Raiden wasn't one to delve too deep in his own self, because it brought up unnecessary problems, unneeded pains he had buried very well underneath layers of soothing lies so he could function normally, or pretend to, at least.

But that month he had started digging. Questioning. Removing the soil settled in his mind, so to speak, slowly finding little pebbles as he scraped it with a single finger. Pebbles that he thought, with the ignorance of a child, were diamonds. Ordinary findings he thought were like the discovery of the New World.

For example, one of those simple facts was that he didn't know he had... he never thought he had a thing for _guys_. Clearly, he had never thought about it too hard (like anything that had to do with himself, he thought resentfully,) and during his high-school years the only kind of people he felt attracted to were girls, because that was what he felt was expected of him. He still liked women, he still found pleasure in following delicate curves with his eyes, excited at the idea of holding and kissing equally delicate breasts. It was just that he had added something more to that repertoire of erotic ideas, wider backs, throbbing lengths—His heart would beat all the same, noticing no difference when thinking of a man or a woman anymore, and though it didn't quite feel unnatural, it was unsettling regardless.

There was another finding that directly connected to his newfound sexuality: He never thought his libido could be so _active_. It could be that his preceding sexual experiences had never been something to lose his head over; his previous girlfriends were shy, and so was he, and the few times they had sex had been mostly awkward, passive encounters that left no permanent impression in his mind. After that, he didn't fantasize much, didn't really focus so much on his sexual needs other than the inevitable morning inconvenience.

But after being with Sam he—

He found himself _thinking_ about it.

 _Constantly_.

It should've been no surprise. Their confrontations were now purely sexual, of course everything he'd think about afterwards would be of that nature. Yet his psyche seemed to be constantly over-stimulated even after not seeing him for a while. Sometimes, in the middle of class, his mind would wander, and he'd find himself relishing the sting of his bruises against the fabric of his clothes, unconsciously tracing the ones he could reach with his fingers, the story of each mark repeating over and over in his head and making his lips dry up. Then, in the dojo, he'd watch Sam's matches but he wouldn't pretend to do it out of serious interest anymore, no—Instead, his eyes would follow the lines of his tightening muscles and his ears would pick up on his gasps, similar to the ones he'd hear near his neck, feel against his skin. Only when they were over he became aware of his arousal—not a physical kind of arousal, but rather mental, and he couldn't quite focus during his own practice matches, returned to the real world only by a bokken to the head.

Sam noticed.

He knew he did, because now that his brain wasn't so busy denying even looking at him in the first place, he noticed his eyes frequently landing on his own.

They evaded his glance automatically.

Then, he'd grin.

'My room' he would say, voicelessly.

Raiden would frown, but he would not refuse.

He hated Sam.

He feared Sam.

He was getting too close—No—He was _creeping_ _in_. And he was allowing it.

How deep was he going to go? If such simple, almost mundane discoveries had him on his toes, what would happen if he dug more? What would happen if the nature of their relationship went beyond physical release?

The door was locked.

Tightly.

"You're thinking too much again."

Jack blinked, then looked to his side.

The purr was gone.

Sam was looking at him, eyes half-lidded but knowing. Too knowing, as always.

"Maybe I am."

"Having second thoughts?"

He snorted. "Always."

"Hm. You're difficult."

Raiden frowned. He didn't deny it, though, because he was.

If he hated— _feared_ Sam, then why wasn't he stopping any of this?

Did he hate Sam? Really? Did he fear him? Or did he fear the thought of someone getting _too close_? Going too deep? Of making him think about things he had never felt the need to reflect on, like his sexuality, like his relationships, like himself?

He could just end it. He could simply kick Sam out of his bed, out of his room, out of his mind, vanish him from his body. He knew Sam would fight back, but he would not insist if he proved his resolve was real—He was persistent, but not to the point he would refuse his real feelings.

He could argue that he didn't really feel like pushing him away because aside from that one fight, Sam hadn't attempted any more psychoanalysis on him—Everything they had done afterwards had been purely physical. But that was a lie, because even then his actions had a psychological weight to it, because every touch looking to please him implied prying for knowledge about himself, going deeper than just his skin.

The door was locked.

Three locks, a chain and a sturdy bar of wood.

The purr was gone.

What did he want from him? Was he just his stress relief? An escape valve for pent-up lust?

What did _he_ want from Sam?

He was lost, lost in the woods, lost between trees made of thoughts, suppositions, wondering.

"Maybe I should really stop this."

"Why?"

David took a deep drag on his cigarette, blue eyes peering at him under his favorite bandana. Two weeks had passed after he had woken up with both Sam and the hangover of the century when he had ran back home to ask for guidance. His adoptive father had listened to him go on and on about his troubles with apparent disinterest, and that question was his first intervention after an hour of disjointed thoughts and embarrassing confessions.

Raiden found himself speechless for a moment. "I... Because—Because... it's not right."

"Why?" He repeated, frown deep as ever. "You don't like it?"

Dave was always so overly direct, asking that question as if he were asking if it would rain tomorrow. Jack felt somewhat bashful, and looked down at the floor sheepishly. "I-It's not about liking it or not. It's... It's just that I don't know—I don't know where this is going, I don't know why this is happening, I..."

"So what?"

"So I don't know what to do!" He finally declared, frustrated.

The man didn't answer right away. He took a second to just sit back on his chair, looking at the sky, clear and bright unlike Jack's mind. Then, he put out his cigarette and threw it on a ashtray nearby, reaching for a box on the table by his side.

"Kid. You're 21 years old."

"I know, I should already know how to deal with this stuff, but...!"

"Let me finish." Raiden shut up instantly, and Dave took out another cigarette. "You're 21 years old, Jack, but you've been like this since you were 10—Always a goddamn control freak, always losing it when something's out of your plan, when there's a minimum amount of uncertainty in your life." He played with the lighter, eyes looking into his. "But that's how life is. And you're going to have to get used to it, because otherwise you're not really living _life_. You're living a plan, a schedule. Sure it's nice and safe, but it's also boring as hell. Life's going to be unpredictable. Life's going to surprise you. Life's going to turn you upside down, and screw you up and over until you can't tell left from right. And you gotta be ready for it, kid, you gotta learn to deal, to not let it overwhelm you, hell, I'd even say you gotta learn to _enjoy_ it."

The blonde smiled bitterly. "That sounds like torture."

"Only because you want it to be." He finally let the lighter's flame ignite his cigarette, and took a deep breath. "If life turns you around, it won't let you come back up immediately like you want to, and you can't run away when it happens."

"... I'm not running now, am I? I mean, if I were, I wouldn't have let this go so far. I wouldn't be giving it this much thought, either, that's for sure."

"Yeah, you're not running away _now_ , and that's good. But you spent more than 10 years doing just that, and it's coming back to haunt you." Dave breathed out a puff of smoke. "To be honest, I'm glad this is happening to you."

Raiden scoffed, and not just because of the smoke. "You're glad to see me stumbling around in the dark like an idiot?"

"Yeah."

" _Dave_."

The man made a dry sound of amusement.

"I figured it would happen when you went to school, but you managed to avoid any kind of real life experience there—Freaking control-loving brat. But now this guy managed to shake you up a little—Maybe you'll finally learn to live like you should."

"Live like I should...? What, confused and without a clue?"

"That's right."

Jack looked down at his hands in aggravation, missing Dave's slight smile.

"Calm down. It's not always gonna be like this. But when it is, you gotta consider that sometimes, when you're lost, you don't need to start frantically looking for a path immediately." The chair creaked under his weight as he leaned back once more. "Sometimes you should just sit and enjoy the scenery for a while. And if it takes you too long to find this path you're so in need of, you can always ask for directions. You're not the only one involved in this, are you?"

The feeling of his fingers dragging down his neck brought Raiden back from his memories, Dave's voice dissolving in the air like the endless smoke pouring from his mouth. Digits retraced their path up once they reached his clavicles, taking a hold of his chin and making him look to the side. Sam's brown eyes traveled up and down his face, and when met with the man’s questioning ones, he flashed his characteristic wide smile at him.

“... Pretty.”

Raiden scoffed in disbelief.

“Should I be flattered?”

“It _is_ a compliment.”

“Men aren’t supposed to be ‘pretty’.”

“Really, now?"

"Really."

He maintained eye contact. Sam's eyes didn't waver. They never did.

"What do you want from me?"

Sam blinked, rose his eyebrows, but still refused to break eye contact. He was analyzing his face. He could almost hear the gears in his brain turning, constructing his answer, and Raiden felt his heartbeat in his throat. It was the first time he spoke his mind—Sex always ended with an exchange of snappy, meaningless remarks, but this time, he was looking for answers.

Funny.

He hated when others looked for answers in him, but adored finding answers in others.

Sam's analysis seemed to be over with a smile and a tilt of his head, the beat in Raidens throat halting.

Then, a single word:

"Pizza."

"... What?"

The blonde blinked, completely thrown off track.

"Pizza." Sam repeated, then yawned. "I am hungry, and I want some."

What was he _talking_ about? Did he even hear his question? Did he word it wrongly, somehow? Did he make it sound like was talking about his stomach rather than his head? Thrown off balance, Raiden only managed to babble the first thing that came to mind:

"Uh... Go get some, then?"

"Hm, maybe. Maybe we can go together."

"Together? Us?"

What was going _on._

"Yes, that's what together usually means. I'm hungry, and I know you are hungry, too. We might as well go together."

"Uh."

Dangerous. _They_ would see them together—Rumors were going around already, even though they were barely rumors because people had _heard_. Still, he could always deny it as long as they didn't see it with their own eyes—If he started hanging out with Sam, then...

He opened his mouth, but what came out wasn't what his mind had planned:

"Okay?"

"Oh."

Sam's smile got bigger along with Raiden's uncertainty, then he jumped off the bed and started looking for his pants. In a haze, the blonde followed suit, mind again in that state of chaos he was starting to become a little too familiar with.

Was that what Dave wanted? Was that what he said life really was? As he looked for his pants, he contorted his face into a bitter frown.

 _'_ _Life's going to turn you upside down, and screw you up and over until you can't tell left from right. And you gotta be ready for it, kid, you gotta learn to deal, to not let it overwhelm you, hell, I'd even say you gotta learn to enjoy it_. _'_

Perhaps becoming familiar with chaos really was what he needed—It would explain why living always felt like a battle for him in the first place, as he kept fighting uncertainty like it was his mortal enemy.

_'_ _Goddamn control freak'_

A smiled pulled at his lips when he put on his jacket, smile that faltered once he felt two hands around his face, making him look up. Sam's eyes had a question in them before he even spoke, but unlike all of his, it wasn't fueled by uncertainty.

"What do you want from me?"

This had happened before, except it was Raiden who had turned Sam's own question against him.

Dirty little trick.

"I don't know." He answered honestly.

"Good. That's very good."

He lightly tapped his right cheek with his hand, then let go of his face.

"Let's find out together, then."

Raiden pressed his lips in a thin line.

That meant he didn't know, either.

Was Sam really just as lost as he was? Did he feel as disoriented as he did?

No.

Sam was lost, but he wasn't disoriented. He was lost, but instead of focusing on frantically looking for an exit out of the woods, he was simply enjoying the scenery.

Somehow, the fact that he was not the only one without a clue made him feel a little safer, less vulnerable. Something clicked.

"You're thinking too much again, blondie."

Raiden smacked his index finger off his nose and huffed, but didn't feel like glaring daggers like he usually would.

"I guess I am."

Instead, he gave him a subdued gaze, before walking ahead of him, exhaling long and hard to rid his body of the tension of taking a new decision.

He unlocked the door.


End file.
